The Northern Veil had become a living storm of tension, the air thick with anticipation, magic, and the lingering scent of iron and smoke. Dusk painted the horizon in bruised purples and blood-red streaks, but the beauty was a cruel illusion over the terror that prowled among the trees. Selara moved through the underbrush with predator-like precision, senses heightened, silver veins glowing faintly beneath her skin. Every step was calculated, every breath synchronized with the energy that hummed through her Nightborne blood, thrumming with both instinct and intent.
